Trials of the Sunsworn
by Valkyryn
Summary: For a young high elf paladin of the Scarlet Crusade with a dead mother, an undead father, and several uncles who just want to make what they want of him, life isn't so easy. We follow Amorieln through his many Trials, and facing his countless adventures.
1. Safety

**Summary**: _With a name that means to walk safely in the light, one would expect life to be easy, so long as they lived their path in respect to the Light. Well... For a young high elf paladin of the Scarlet Crusade with a dead mother, an undead father, and countless uncles who just want to make what they want of him, life isn't so easy. We follow Amorieln through his many Trials, facing the Sunsworn and Silverblade families and countless adventures along the way.  
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><p>The chapel shone with light, and one could clearly see the other four beacons as well. Strewn across the region were five holy towers that were seized by the Argent Crusade from the warring horde and alliance parties. These were marks of achievement and conquest, and pillars of hope that shone for all travelers through the dreaded eastern plaguelands. Ever did the scourge rule the area, and continued to under an unknown master. Servants of the light that deemed themselves the Argent Dawn desperately defended these sanctums, welcoming aid from all those willing. But for one being, these locales of purity were far from sanctums, they were a part of home and an extension of the Light which I have followed devotedly. Wherever the Light shines her blessing, I am there to help defend her. That is why I now stand at the foot of the only corrupt tower, the decrepit stone long fallen to decay and beyond repair due to the presence of the scourge in the town surrounding it. Wearily my eyes scanned the desolate town, the wooden homes overcome with natural and unnatural growth both. I heaved a sigh, this place had been long past due for exorcism, and I feared it too late to save the wretched place.<p>

Perhaps I should introduce myself, though names are trivial to those who surrender themselves wholly to the light, I have one for which those less devoted may call me. I am Amorieln Lightrunner. I am a paladin, but not of the normal means. I am an avenger of injustice, and defender the Light's people. One would…judge me wrong upon first glance. You see, I am often mistaken for my crude cousins, and am more often blamed for their mistakes. I am not exactly a proud person of my race, but this injustice on my heritage wears me thin.

If you would listen, I am a High Elf, but I am different than true High Elves and our fallen cousins too. I am both. My mother was a High Elf priestess of the Scarlet Monastery born and raised before the scourge attacks, my father a Blood Elf warrior, who had been tried and convicted as a war captive - about a year before the dark portal opened. My father was sent to the Monastery as punishment, captured outside of Deathknell when he was found raiding the scarlet crusade camps there, and forced under Mograine's hand as a servant, though he was never to redeem his soul - despite the justice-bound population which held him. There my mother, then a pupil to Whitemane, had met him. She was instructed to cure his arcane addiction through purging techniques she had been taught only just prior to their meeting. As most romantic tales go, through their daily meetings to purge his addiction, she fell in love. This happened within a three month time period. This was a secret and passionate romance, but my father might as well have been a rogue, not the warrior he had trained to be since he was nine. They had met mostly in the Monastery's inner confessing chambers where my father was well watched by solemn monks and chaplains, but one day my mother had tempted fate and took him to the stables, to show him the multitude of horses kept there in an attempt to gentle his attitude towards her comrades. He promptly escaped, leaving her heartbroken and at the mercy of Whitemane's wrath, a captive and also a horse missing by her mistakes. He had also bedded her then and there in the stables, a testament to the phrase 'taking a roll in the hay'. Needless to say, her priestess status was revoked, and she was reduced to begging in the streets of Undercity. Undercity was no place for beggars, and especially not a newly pregnant female high elf. She was forced to return to our cousin race, the Blood Elves. She resigned herself to the Blood Elf ways, and succumbed to the addictions of the arcane, transforming her love of the Light into a love for the magic and arcane sorcery of a Arcane specialized mage. Her eyes then had lost their blue beauty and turned the pale emerald of the blood elves that she'd turned to for refuge. By the time she entered the Mage academy in Silvermoon, she was due on her pregnancy. By then she had become so far gone with her addiction that she could not bring herself to care for an infant that required so much care, when hobbled shaking hands could not hold a fragile babe as he nursed on a dry breast that could not produce because it's owner devoted herself so wholly to the arcane. High Elf babies needed tender care, more so than a human child. They required near constant attention, so needy were they. She simply did not have the time. She resorted to abandoning the child, forsaking it as well for it was the blood of a man that had abandoned her at the first opportunity. She held no remorse and left the child at the only location she knew might take pity on a homeless babe. She left the baby boy bundled up in a mint green blanket on the steps of the monastery. If you had not figured this out yet, that little high borne babe was me. How did I end up a paladin stepping on the toes of the scourge in the Eastern Plaguelands? Well, I'll tell you…

Pale emereld eyes warily cast about, she was definitely not welcome here, less a priest today than she had been under Whitemane's tutelage. She softly petted her horse's snout, trying to comfort it. The beast was as uncomfortable as she; it knew it had to place here among the crusaders and hounds of the scarlet color. They were like foxes in a chicken coop, unwelcome and needing to be quickly shot because they were pests. The gray and white spotted horse nickered softly and then complained as it's master silently tied the binding reigns to a thick branch off the tree they both were hiding behind. Best to tether the horse, for if she came back running with humans on her heel the horse would surely bolt off without her in the saddle. She hated to scare the beast, but the horse was also not hers, hence the unfaithful expectancy. She'd stolen it from some camp of undead in brill that were about to turn it into a skeletal warhorse. She had more use for the warmth of a live one due to the bundle in an open faced basket at the horn of the saddle. She tenderly brought down the wicker basket, untying the binds that had kept it still, and after retrieving the precious thing inside, dropped the basket carelessly onto the fading gray grass that had once matched her eyes current color. She pulled back the mint colored blanket only slightly from the infant's face, she did not want to smother the poor thing before the crusade could do it, if that was what they planned to do. She glanced up in a panic at the sound of a snapping twig, heart pounding in her chest, and her fingers shaking in worry. She hunched low to the ground, attempted to silent panicked murmurings that had started without her intent, and clutched the young child to her breast. She waited a moment, and her heart began to beat regularly; no white and red tabards glaringly bright against the dreary backdrop of Tirisfal, and the monastery beyond. She flipped her pale orange colored hair dismissively, a shaky grin on her shallow face. Arcane sickness was blatantly obvious on her person. Why should she be scared? The monastery had been unduly quiet recently, due to the recent opening of the Dark Portal. The zealots were probably all cowering in their beds, the lot of them. Who knows what is on the other side of that thing? Certainly she didn't know, nor her temporary mount. She hesitantly stood, and made forward silently. She monastery was yet a shadow in the mist of the pines, she would be safe a few minutes longer. Gathering molecules of the arcane in the air around her, and after a paranoid double check of what was ahead of her, she cast a blink spell which transported her a lengthy distance closer to the monastery, albeit she smacked her forehead on a branch when she came out of it. She sputtered, then looked around to mark if any enemies would happen to be on the browse, and unhappily trotted on, the babe snoozing silently in the cradle of her right arm. Everything was too perfect, she was getting to close to the pristine entrance that should have been teeming with houndmasters and other ilk that would stick her in the gut. She decided not to press her luck, and quickly cast the only sneaky spell she had in her arsenal, Invisibility. This spell was not infinite, and she was not about to test how long she could hold it. She could tromp about as much as she wanted while cloaked - so long as she didn't get in the face of an enemy. She strode briskly up to the entrance, the proud stone opening that led directly to the staircase up to the entry hall. She glanced through the other archway of the opening, longingly at the stables beyond. She snarled silently at herself, and passed under the first arch. There was no way she would be caught dead going up those steps again, no matter how precious the temperature of the babe had to be kept. She was leaving it here for fate to deal with, not to coddle the thing. She, still invisible through the arcane weave she'd set about herself, timidly placed the red-haired babe on the first, massive step. It began to stir, and she fled without a second glance, back to the horse which had been tethered. Back to an ambush that had been set the instant she had set foot upon the holy grounds of the Monastery.

A Scarlet Champion strode back confidently, a Raven priest and an abbot at his heels. The priest held the robes and jewelry of the now deceased blood elf that had tresspassed, while the abbot held the severed head. The champion held a triumphant grin, the blood over his face the only mark of achievement he needed to show to their superiors. He halted at the entrance to the Monastery, having nearly trodden on something placed delicately on the first step.

"What is it, Jacob?" the priest asked, a bit bothered. He held a hand out in a signal to wait, and the two casters dutifully stepped back, ready to conjure at his mark. Jacob, the champion, knelt down and investigated the pale green blanket by pulling away a few layers until he was met face to tiny face with the boy child of the elf they had just slaughtered.

"That's why Roanari came back..." came the murmur from his lips as he tenderly picked up the boy, gauntleted hands surprisingly careful. He turned to his companions, and gestured slightly. The priest came forward with a coo, smiling in a motherly fashion.

"He looks like Ryan, almost. Are you sure this was why Roanari was here? That doesn't make sense, she was never with anyone before Whitemane banished her." the woman judged quietly, stroking the waking child's cheek softly. He cooed back to her, opening eyelids sleepily to mark stunningly ocean blue eyes that glowed faintly.

"Definitely hers, Beth. She were always a catch with them eyes o' hers. I never seen any elf of any kind with anything but milky blue eyes, 'cept for Roan." the abbot chimed in, smirking. The raven master gave him a stern scowl, and he raised a hand in defense.

"You know I didn't do it, I just liked 'er eyes is all." he defended.

"Better not be some half breed by your seed, Liam, or it's being thrown to the flame..." Bethany grumbled, though her face was smiling jokingly. Jacob rolled his eyes.

"Should we give him to Whitemane and Mograine?" Jacob asked cautiously. He eyed Beth slowly. She shifted on her toes a little with a childish smile on her face that suggested she wanted something.

"I don't know... We could ask for him, Jacob. Ryan needs a little sibling to watch over, to feel like he needs to protect. We could make it work, you know..." She suggested, holding her hands, and thus the bloodied robes, behind her back. Jacob looked down at her through narrowed eyes.

"Liam, what of you?" the abbot startled a moment, nearly losing his slimy grip of Roanari's hair.

"Well, I don't know. No matter what, you need to have him quaranteened, just in case." he offered with a shrug. Bethany stomped a foot cutely and pouted like the eighteen year old she was. Jacob wasn't giving in, as he never did in front of Liam, and this caused her shoulders to sink sadly.

"Then that is what we shall do. You two go to Mograine, show the spoils of the infiltrator, and I shall go to Whitemane and see about keeping him." Jacob announced, immediately turning around and heading up the stairs. He could clearly hear the echo of his young wife's pleased squeal as she began to ramble on to her brother the abbot. Jacob gave a self-appraising smirk at how he'd handled that. He would be making all parties happy - except for Liam. He'd get a return fire later from him, no doubt. The baby in his arms began to fuss quietly, until an ear-splitting shriek burst forth from his little lungs. He wailed without pause, for no reason Jacob could fathom on the spot. Bethany returned to her husband's side quickly - and the child hushed without word. Bethany inspected the babe for a moment with her eyes, looked through the things she'd had in her grasp, and made a triumphant sound.

"Here, Jacob. This must be what was keeping him quiet, likely the only thing that will. It's his mother's ring, conveniently attached to a chain. Wonder if she knew we'd kill her?" Bethany whispered quietly as she strung the simply decorated ring's chain around the young boy's neck.

"What is it about that ring that keeps him tame?" Jacob inquired gently as he began walking once more up the staircase, eyes once more to where he was walking. Bethany kept pace with him, though her eyes were on the boy, who was watching her with a gaze that seemed eery.

"I've read about elves before, and Roanari told me about them back when she.. was still here. The name slips by me, but she told me the ring she wore, that ring, was what kept her from becoming addicted to the arcane, and kept her blue eyes the way they were. Somehow, the ring is a mana font, is what I've gathered, that keeps the elf's addiction at bay, constantly. They're rare though, she doesn't know where she got hers. She probably was left with it by her mother, like she's done for our little friend here. They take a while to bond to their owner, though, something about a full day. She must have bonded the child with it before ditching him out here." Beth rambled, talking quietly as they passed by other members of their crusade, their shoes tapping loudly on the smooth stone beneath their feet. The long channels with both open and closed rooms echoed slightly as she talked. At the absolute end were two massive half-moon shaped doors. One led to the Armory, where Herod was training the champions and such, and the other led to their destination: the Cathedral. Sally would be there, no doubt. At this time of day, sunset, the High Inquisitor would be receiving reports from the camps fighting against various parts of the Tirisfal glades, and inspecting them before sending them off to Renault Mograine. Mograine would be with Arcanist Doan, Loksey or Herod, surveying the defenses of the Monastery. They entered the door on the left, a privilege in itself that they were allowed to pass. Only officers of the different sects, and the guard of the Cathedral were allowed in, unless otherwise occupied by one of higher rank.

"That's interesting, Beth. No wonder Doan boasts that you're his greatest student to have ever graduated the adept stage. You look into everything, love." Jacob praised fondly, sparing her a loving smile and glance. She returned the gesture warmly.

"I know things that are important, so if the time comes and no one else knows about it, I am there to provide the answer. Bless the light for giving me such astounding memory." She murmured, giving a glance upward while touching one closed hand to her heart and drawing a circle from it, then a straight gesture down a short ways. This was one of their symbols, the symbol of the holy Light that they all served under. Jacob quickly made the same gesture, bowing his head a moment before raising his eyes once more. The couple kept a brisk pace as they proceeded to the grand doors of the Cathedral, where bishops and chaplains hurriedly opened the doors for them. Whitemane stood at the end, hands spread over a table with a large dusty map reaching farther than her fingertips on the monolithic stone table. She hardly looked up at their entry - she had no need to, as the other high inquisitor named Fairbanks, looked at them and whispered their arrival to Whitemane's ear. Without pause, she raised one hand, ordering the two crusaders to stop.

"What is your purpose here this evening, Lightrunners, when you both are expected at supper?" Whitemane called, narrowing her eyes as Captain Vachon shoved a report under her nose of the neighboring sentry tower he commanded.

"We bear interesting news of the intruder we reported earlier." Jacob called, head down in submission and down on one knee. Bethany held the same position, robes draped onto the floor and her staff held proudly upright against the carpeted flooring.

"Report, Champion." she barked, finally looking up at the married couple as she silently ordered Vachon away.

"Roanari, the intruder, has been dispatched, High Inquisitor. We have purloined her few items for inspection and salvaging, and have brought what we suspect is her infant child." Bethany called, looking up at Whitemane seriously.

"Does it carry obvious taint of any kind?" their superior demanded drearily, her eyes dark despite her pale complexion.

"Nay, High Inquisitor. Otherwise we would not have brought him to you for further decision. I would have dispatched him personally." Jacob replied, looking up at the woman strongly. She nodded.

"Bring him to me, then. I shall decide now." was the order he received. He stood, careful to mind the babe held in the crook of his massive arm, and approached Whitemane at a gradual pace. She held her arms out invitingly, a soft smile on her white face.

"So you believe this child to be our once beloved Roanari's? I find that hard to believe, Champion Lightrunner. She was very seclusive during her time here, and the time-line suggests that she fell pregnant during her time here. Pity she let that warrior go, cost her her life in the end." Whitemane narrated gently as she took the young elfling. She pulled back the blanket entirely from the babe, showing the poor thing had nothing but a crudely fashioned mageweave diaper on, thankfully clean. Whitemane looked at the corners until she seemed to have found something.

"Ah, here we are. Yes, he is Roanari's. She had this cloth embroidered before coming to her rightful execution. 'Amorieln Sunsworn', it says. 'Named for his uncle, Amariel', it also says." Whitemane read, eyes narrowing.

"That damned Amariel was a no good like his sister." the inquisitor swore harshly.

"Milady...Roanari was a strong member of our priesthood...before she became corrupted by that foul warrior. Perhaps we could raise her child, like we raised her, in hopes that he will become more devout than she, and is less... corruptible." Fairbanks interrupted calmly, his dimly glowing yellow eyes showing little emotion. Jacob flinched slightly and gave a step back from the withering undead. He was a completely and totally devout member of the priesthood that had died for their holy cause, and had risen again because of his unrest. He believed his duty had not been completed, so now he was back with the Crusade, protected savagely by Whitemane and Mograine. Sally gave a soft sigh, then smiled.

"You are right, Fairbanks. We shall place him under quarantine, the standard month should do it. Who will watch and care for him, Fairbanks?" Whitemane complied, looking at him with those bloody colored eyes of hers. The undead gave a shrug, adjusting his cap.

"My lady, if you please..." Bethany called quietly, but firmly. Whitemane looked out to Jacob's wife, a slightly startled look on her face.

"You wish for the child?" She was asked in return, voice showing obvious surprise. Bethany stood and joined Jacob's side, taking his arm. Warmth flooded through Jacob at the touch, there was nothing like having a priest as a wife, you remained at full potential at the merest touch.

"We do, High inquisitor. Our young Ryan needs a playmate and someone to watch, this is the perfect opportunity." Bethany admitted timidly. Jacob gave a nod when Whitemane looked at him.

"Very well. You both know the rules of quarantine. Your entire household will be put under protection of the divine spell, you will be given supplies for the duration ahead of time. You both will be excused of your duties in the meantime. Has anyone else been in contact with the dead mother or the babe during the interim of your walk here?" the High inquisitor queried, handing the young elf off to Bethany, who quickly swaddled the green blanket around him once more.

"Only my brother-in-law, my lady." Jacob offered. Whitemane gave a nod.

"Fairbanks, if you will please escort them - a mild power shield each ought to suffice." the lady suggested warmly. She gave a pause and closed her white skinned eyes as she began to murmur a chant under her breath. A glow of golden white light surrounded her hands as she muttered, the words of cleansing easily recognizable to all those who were able to call upon the light. After a moment more of this, the glow briefly surrounded her and though she was not visibly changed, one knew that she had completely scoured her being of any possible taint, real or unreal. She gave a content sigh and opened her eyes comfortingly at them.

"And there is no need to gather up Abbot Clearwater on the way...It seems he was unsure of whether he was safe around the others or not - he is patiently awaiting your arrival at your humble home." Whitemane announced cheerfully. Jacob gave a low bow, muttering a blessing in her name as he heard Bethany do likewise next to him. He didn't bother to ask how she knew that Liam was back at the house, that was not for him to wonder.

"May the light be with you, blessed Inquisitor." Fairbanks bowed generously, before Bethany and Jacob found themselves surrounded by glowing golden... Bubbles. Jacob grinned as he extended an arm out, the shield expanding it's girth to accommodate the extended limb.

"Always enjoyed these. Why don't you ever cast these for me, Dear?" Jacob teased as he turned to follow the hobbling undead priest out of the cathedral. He heard Beth give a huff as she caught up to his side.

"I'm a raven priest, not a holy priest. I don't do bubbles except my own, _dear_." was the mildly annoyed retort he received. He chuckled deeply and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking down fondly at the infant who had fallen asleep once more. Most likely because of Whitemane, but Jacob wasn't complaining. The little elfling would be awoken at the house, they would need to give him a bath and then feed him. Ryan would be most excited to meet his new little brother, too. Bethany leaned into his embrace with a genuine smile. They poked fun at each other's classes regularly, him being a Champion paladin, and her being a Raven Priest. They were vastly different, near opposites in their skills, but they loved each other all the same.

They passed few people on their journey back to their small two bedroom house, most everyone was in the Galley eating supper. Fairbanks kept an ambling but steady pace, and they reached their destination shortly. Their house was small and simple, the roof covered with red colored shambles, the walls made from white and tan brick. A standard abode, but more than most members of the Crusade were offered. The couple had earned their keep fighting against the Undercity Raiders, forsaken undead that ran under the damned Banshee queen's flag. They were not the only threat that invaded the Crusade almost monthly, but with Jacob's strategy and healing skills in the armory, no raid made it to the cathedral. Likewise with Bethany's ability to strike down combatants with ravens made of dark light, the Library was well protected from raids searching for intel. Liam also contributed, as an Abbot specializing in the controlling of others' minds, he was invaluable in the Cathedral. Liam would interrupt the scrying of mages and the assassination attempts of rogues every time. Mages left arcane trails that Liam would follow with his own magic to control the mage and implode themselves with a fire spell. Rogues also would turn their blades inward under the Abbot's mental sway, their poisoned blades meant for Whitemane or Mograine instead stuck in their own chests.

"About time you got back! Whitemane let you keep the elfling?" Liam shouted as they opened the door - Fairbanks remained outside, yellow eyes watching reverently.

"Yes, she did, brother. We've all got to go under quarantine for a month but I doubt he carries any taint." Bethany replied confidently, smiling up at her older brother. Jacob released his wife to turn back to Fairbanks. Sensing the question, the undead turned to him before the Champion could ask.

"The supplies will be brought within the hour, meanwhile I will safeguard the house to prevent any possible... spread." was the dull murmur. Jacob gave a nod, and grasped the door handle to bring it closed.

"And Jacob?" the undead called firmly. The paladin paused, waiting for the request.

"Mind the elfling, will you? He will have an interesting future, here. He will be the only high elf in our Monastery, now. Andrian fell to the graveyard's denizens this morning. He was gathering kingsblood from the back when he was set upon by a troup of wraiths." the Inquisitor informed in a mournful tone. Jacob's shoulders and heart fell. Andrian had been, while not close, a friend. Andrian had indeed been the last High elf in the group since Amariel and Roanari left. The news that he had been killed in his own home, where he was Grave-keeper, was disheartening.

"I see, Fairbanks. Thank you for informing me of the news, it's too bad... Andrian would have been a great help to raising our new son..." Jacob replied softly, bowing his head slightly.

"Say a blessing from us, when the funeral happens, Fairbanks?" Jacob asked gently. The undead nodded, and turned away in dismissal. Jacob sighed and shut the door firmly. In the entryway he could hear Bethany's bell like laughter alongside a loud squealing giggle that had to belong to the elfling. Jacob let a smile creep onto his face. He'd join them soon, first thing that he was going to do was shed himself of this bulky plate armor he'd donned when they set out to slay Roanari. He regretted killing her, but her death was necessary. She had left their crusade, she no longer deserved to live if she was not to live in the glory of the Light. Her son - his son - however, still had a chance as he was so young. It was curious why Roanari came back with him in the first place, but there was no way to find out now because her body was currently headless in the forest and left for the dire-hounds. Leaving his contemplations at the doormat, Jacob headed down the hallway that connected all the rooms of the house. Since the house was a single story, they had a meager cooking room, a large bedroom, a smaller bedroom, a pantry, and a small hearth-room. The larger room was at the very end of the hall, across from it was the smaller bedroom. Closest to the entryway was the hearth-room, and across from that was the kitchen. Inside of the kitchen a small pantry with an enchanted cold-box resided. Jacob turned into the larger bedroom - his and Bethany's. After shutting the door he easily fell into the routine of stripping his plate armor and under-armor.

Liam smiled warmly at his younger sister who held the tiny elfling named Amorieln. Ryan, his nephew, was sitting next to his mother on a cushioned couch and grinning at the smaller child.

"Wha's his name?" Ryan asked quietly, aware that the babe was sleeping. His mother beamed proudly at her oldest.

"His name is Amorieln. It means 'Safety in the Path of Light'."

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><p>AN Hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter :) I'm working slowly on the second, as I try to flesh out the significant years of our Amorieln's childhood. Pictures will be up eventually, once I finish them, including a full grown Amorieln in armor, and his various weapons. I'm trying to keep this story as accurate as possible to the Scarlet Crusade's info, so please let me know if something is off. Sorry if I don't update often! I'd rather update slowly and with long chapters :)

~Kitt-Kitt


	2. Light

"Strike me, boy!" growled the red armored paladin in front of him. Blue eyes shimmered in concern at the order hastily given during their sparring match. His opponent was much more heavily protected, stronger, and faster. Meanwhile, he was wearing light leather pants dyed red and white, with a tabard tied at the waist with a deep scarlet belt. He wore a single chain, with a ring attached to it, around his neck. This was tucked underneath his scarlet linen shirt. In his grasp was an ornamental but functional long-knife with the symbol of Lordaeron in red in four places. The blade was his, he'd gotten it on his last birthday when he turned ten. Now hoever, he was sparring against his mentor, Herod the Scarlet Champion. He'd been training with Herod since he was seven, and his teacher was no less strict then than he was now. Giving a soft sigh as Herod growled the order again, Amorieln adjusted his stance and eyed his teacher warily. They'd been fighting for two hours nearly, and he was tired. His knees shaking, Amorieln gave a small aggravated shout as he lunged at the human, casting a spell of judgement without really thinking about it. The spell was cast away with little effort by the armored person that Amorieln began fighting on instinct. He weaved in and out of Herod's attacks that were done with a Crusader's short blade, though he never was fast enough to land a strike on the elder, Amorieln struck out and continued on the offense in a strong manner for someone his size. Giving a grunt as he dodged an attack to his left side, the young elfling parried hastily to attempt a strike at his teacher's sword arm. As soon as he began to execute the attack, he gave a cry, his wrist bent backwards in a firm grip.

"If you are too late to parry, your enemy _will_ expect an attack. Don't miss an opportunity, boy." Herod grumbled, releasing the sore wrist to shove the elfling back a few feet. Cradling his sprained wrist, Amorieln gave a pained glare Herod's way. This wasn't going to be the only injury he'd be nursing tonight. Although Amorieln was training to be a paladin like his father, he was deviating slightly. Rather than focusing on his ability to heal, he was focusing on how to attack quickly, strongly, and to execute his enemies as fast as he could. Fighting with a dagger against a sword, though, was meant for rogues not paladins. Every week he fought with the dagger the more he detested the weapon. Knives were meant for emergency defense or offense, in his eyes. He wanted a sword, whether it was meant to be held in one hand or two. He wanted to be like his father _now, _damn it!

"Yes, sir..." Amorieln grumbled reluctantly.

"Now, again." Herod ordered, going into a defensive stance. Growling, Amorieln hesitantly cast a short, weak word of glory to numb his wrist, which thankfully was not his dominant hand. Flipping the knife in his hand expertly, he thought this time about how to attack. Stepping lightly on his feet, legs spread wide for a supportive base, he gave another murmur as the spell of judgement suddenly struck his opponent - for once catching the elder off guard. Though the elder paladin quickly got onto his guard again, Amorieln eagerly took the small opening he created for himself, diving forward and surging holy energy into his small blade, he executed a crusader's strike, the holy energy directed to strike directly through the breastblate of the Champion. Amorieln let out a gasp as his strike was deflected by another blade, and in between was a glowing white and red barrier that flickered in strong strands.

"That's not fair!" Amorielned cried angrily, dropping back, blade falling to the ground as he pointed angrily. Herod gave a chuckle as he sheathed his blade and pulled off his horned helmet.

"War, life, and love are never fair my boy." was the response the young boy got.

"But - the divine protection spell is so unfair! I don't even know that spell yet!" he complained, voice raising in pitch as he grew more upset.

"Then I shall show you the scroll tomorrow. Deal?" Herod grinned, reaching a gauntleted hand to tousle the crimson hair that was loose and shoulder length on the elf's head. Amorieln glared as he crossed his arms angrily. After a moment of what appeared as indecision to the elder, the young elf childishly stuck out his tongue, which essentially was the elf being in denial about defeat.

"Meanwhile, tend to that knife, boy. I thought I told you to never to abandon your weapon on the battlefield unless that is the only thing to save your life?" Herod scolded darkly, brown eyes narrowed in a stern gaze. Hearing a sigh from the shorter being, Herod smirked.

"Yes, sir."

"So how did training go, son?" came the motherly call from the kitchen as Amorieln begrudgingly shut the door behind him, still nursing his halfway sprained wrist and several bruises on his arms and legs both.

"It was okay, Herod cheated." was the short reply from the pouting elf, pale skin somewhat flushed still from the exercise of the afternoon. Turning left into the kitchen, Amorieln sat down on one of the short stools that were set around the stout wooden table. Marcus sat across from him with papers strewn about in front of him. A stick of charcoal rest in his blackened hands as he drew aimlessly. Amorieln gave a smile as he noticed a pattern in them. There were always two to five figures, each one harboring a few significant traits to them. Size was an important thing, in a child's mind, and how important or strong each family member was to the child usually was shown through the size they are drawn on paper. Their father was by far the largest, easily recognizable with his shield and sword - a pair of connected lines and an oval - behind his back. Also on his father's figure was a bulky chest and the flame over his stomach. Their mother was depicted by a skinny figure with a triangle for a robe, the flame also adorned on her stomach, but she was most identified for the 'm' shapes around her that were meant to be her ravens. Taking one of the 'finished' drawings little seven year old Marcus had begun to shove to his older brother's hands, he saw three figures standing next to each other that increased in size from left to right. On the left was Marcus, shown by having a scribbled mop of hair, no flame, and a short line in one 'hand' that was meant to be his faithful stick of charcoal. On the right was Ryan, the oldest of the three brothers. He was depicted very similarly to their mother, but instead of birds floating around his mop of hair, he had an odd looking blob with tentacles and a tail at his right that was Ryan's fel hound named De'oggam. In the center was what made Amorieln smile widely and look at his smiling brother fondly. In between the two other brothers was him, taller than Marcus but shorter than Ryan, also with the flame on his stomach. His features were his ears and the necklace. Somehow Marcus had also managed to smudge the charcoal on his face near the eyes, trying to show that his eyes glowed. It only made it look like he had two white spots for eyes, and his face had gotten terribly dirty.

"This looks really good, Marc! You drew De'o really well, too." Amor praised, offering the drawing back to his younger sibling. He knew they weren't really brothers...His mother and father had made that very clear as soon as he was old enough to understand, but he loved his brothers and parents all the same. He didn't know who his real mom and dad were, but he didn't really want to know. He was happy here, although being the middle child stunk sometimes, he liked being cared for by his warlock of a brother, and then caring for his baby brother. His devotion to the light made him more than happy to accept the faults of his life and to support his family and the light no matter what. For this devotion, the light ran strongly through him, and answered to his every whim, the toll on his mana minimal. Although he hardly ever left the Monastery, Amorieln was confident in his ability to approach people, he had too much faith to be deterred by something that intimidated him.

"Thanks, Amori!" Marcus giggled, continuing his current drawing with renewed vigor. Although the drawings weren't actually that good, why should he be the one to tell his brother that, and ruin any possible talent the younger boy could grow to develop? It simply wasn't right to ruin those chances, so the red-haired elf child instead praised his brother carefully, knowing that he couldn't put him too high on a pedestal or he would become overconfident - much like Amorieln himself was in his fighting skills. Looking over at his mother, the elf smiled more. His mother, though rather dull looking at the moment due to her being in an unclean apron and washing dishes, was a very powerful and independant woman. His father was out on an offensive strike to the town of Brill, for the raiders of Undercity had been attacking more frequently of late. Mograine deemed it responsible to try and smother their supply line in Brill to see if that would lessen the attack rate. Thus, their father was sent, as he was one of the strongest commanding officers the Monastery had. Healer their father may be, he led dutifully and justly.

"Learn anything knew, little one?" his mother asked with a smile as she wiped her hands dry of water and soap onto her apron, turning to the son which she addressed.

"No, but teacher promised to teach me the spell of Divine Protection tomorrow - that's the one he used to cheat today. I was going to hit him hard with a Crusader strike, but he came in with that stupid bubble and blocked me." the elfling replied, crossing his arms firmly.

"You're being taught that spell early, you know. I wouldn't be calling it stupid, dear." was the firm but gentle scold Amor recieved.

"Yes, mother..." he murmured softly. He looked down at the grain of the table, picking at a spot sullenly. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to the kind face of his mother.

"You are very advanced for your class, Amorieln. The fact Herod is taking time to tutor you personally is amazing. Please try to be more patient though, dear. He's teaching you what he thinks you are ready for, when you are ready for it. If you were in one of the normal classes, you'd have to wait till you were thirteen to learn that spell..." she consoled quietly, running a hand through his silken red hair.

"My wonderful little elfling, you have such a close bond with the light, it gleams around you constantly to me...Did you know that? We priests see the light in and around others. Your older brother sees it too, because he works with Light's shadows intimately. One day you'll learn to detect the subtleties, too...I am jealous of your Light, Am. Not many folk have such a bond - not even Whitemane." the human woman murmured absently with a motherly smile. Amorieln smiled back at her faintly. Maybe he'd be strong like his father after all.

"De'oggam, heel!" Ryan shouted angrily, watching as the felhound stopped it's attack on his younger brother - albeit a friendly attack, the hound did not yet know it's limits. The dog reluctantly returned to his master's side, tail and tentacles sagging slightly.

"Good boy, De'o." the human smiled, patting the felhound's head gently, just before the black tentacle mane. The 12 year old boy with the felhound grinned at his two year younger brother, beckoning to him.

"Sorry about that, Am. I haven't gotten full control of him yet is all. At least he's friendly, right?" Ryan chuckled, offering his sibling a helping hand. Amorieln grinned back, taking the hand and allowing his warlock of a brother to heft him up off his back.

"It's okay, Ry. I like De'o, he's nice. I don't like Jukl though, he always pulls my hair and ears.." he murmured, absently rubbing his right ear tenderly.

"Yeah... He's called an imp for a reason, sorry little brother. Well, he's in the nether realm now, and for a long time. De'o is turning out to be a really good asset in combat, even rogues can't hind from me. De'o sniffs them out and they don't stand a chance." Ryan bragged, crossing his arms as he smirked at Amor. The paladin glared jealously at the caster, crossing his arms as well.

"Well...I can attack a rogue before he gets me in the back, too you know! It's called conse... Conscrate!" he shouted, face beginning to turn red like his hair.

"Am... It's called Consecration, and you haven't even learned it yet, I know you don't." Ryan sighed, rolling his eyes.

"But I will know it, I just need to get a bit stronger... Herod says he's going to teach me a protection spell tomorrow though, called... Divine protection I think. It's a sort of bubble, but just for me, not like priest bubbles." Amorieln shrugged, defeated. Ryan smiled and tousled his brother's hair fondly.

"That's good to hear, little brother. I'm sure you'll get to use the Consecration spell soon, heck I bet you could do it right now if you really tried. I think you just put the Light into the ground and make it rise - hurts any shadow being really badly. Just - leave my demons alone, 'kay?" Ryan joked, smiling wide. Amorieln returned the smile, and backed up a good distance, minding how De'o wanted to pounce on him again. He gave a small prayer to the Light, and felt the warmth fill his core. He took the warmth, seeing his hands glowing faintly, and tried to send it to the ground beneath his feet. The warmth left his hands and seemed to course through his stomach and down his legs - and then suddenly beneath him the ground burst up, cracks appearing in the dry training ground he stood on. Light seethed through the cracks, blinding him for a moment. A circle gradually formed around his body, golden light arcing and a few flames licking at the ground - no shadow roamed in that circle. A patch of grass lay in range of the circle, but did not burn. Only the shadows were chased away, nothing else was harmed in the holy onslaught. Amorieln glanced over at De'oggam, to see the hound cowering frightfully behind his older brother. The elf gave a happy grin.

"Ryan! Ryan I did it!" He gave a loud laugh, and began jumping around from joy. Ryan smiled and watched as the ground's eminating light faded slowly.

"Indeed you did, little brother. You always were apt at how to handle the light, I'm jealous. She truly does favor you..." Ryan praised, the smile proud on his lips. Amorieln gazed at his brother with admiration.

"Really, big brother? I just love her, like we all do...What makes me so special?" the younger boy asked curiously, the smile never fading. Ryan let out a laugh.

"Well if I knew, I'd be stealing your secret for myself, now wouldn't I, Am?" Ryan joked, patting De'o on the head lightly.

"Yeah right! Like I'd let you take it!" Amor taunted, sticking his tongue out like a child.

"You keep that out I'll sic De'oggam on you, you know how much he likes to play tug-of-war..." returned the older boy, grinning wickedly.

"No, no! I give! I want my tongue, thanks! How else could I stick it out at you?" the little elf laughed, crossing his arms proudly.

"You have enough tongue on your lips to last you a lifetime, how quick you are!" Ryan sneered playfully, holding his arms out and gathering some shadow that had been lingering in the area, chased away by his littler brother's spell. Amorieln looked frightened for a moment, going into a defensive stance, dagger that had been sheathed on his thigh whipped out and ready to defend.

"Relax, I'm just gathering a soul shard from those shadows you spooked, I'd never hurt you, brother mine." Ryan smiled softly, closing both hands, then overturning his left and opening it to reveal a small purple shard of condensed shadow souls. The elf let out the breath he'd been holding, whirling the dagger once before sliding it into the sheath once more.

"You scare me sometimes, brother. Your shadows are what I'm being trained to excise, you know that right?" Amorieln mumbled worriedly.

"You scare me too, little brother. I learn to harness the shadows most of us can't handle, turning them for my use so they will not harm me, rather those that are requiring punishment. It's a fair trade, in the end. And that is all the Light requires of me - that I am fair and just. That is my class, and my trade. Yours is to defend her and her people, thwarting those who strike us before they do, and decimating those who managed to get past. You, as a paladin, are our retribution, our sanct protector. Our family's retributionist. That's what you are." Ryan lectured calmly, watching as he talked how the little elf's face filled with awe and adoration, then finally with pleasure at the compliments he was recieving.

"You're the best, you know that, Ry?" Amor laughed, grinning.

"I know, don't you forget it!" Ryan chuckled, tossing the shard to the fairer brother. In the air the shard twisted and reformed into a sphere darker than night, the center looking a dusky hollow purple.

"What's this for? I can't use it...I'm no darkcaster." Amorieln murmured, fingering the small sphere that was about as big as his eye.

"It's a Soul Stone. Just, keep it on you, okay? All the time. You mind need it one day, although I pray by the Light that day will never happen." Ryan replied sullenly, snapping his fingers once, then De'oggam was at his side faithfully.

"Go train some more, you'll know how and when to use that when you need to. Don't ask anyone about it, I'm not supposed to give them to other people yet." Ryan called gently, leaving with a quick and erratic pace. Amorieln was left standing there with a perplexed look on his face, holding the small round stone.

"But...I know what they do..." He whispered faintly, eyes downcast.


	3. Graveyard Shift

Dark eyes stared absently at the forge before him, magic dust floating around the opening faintly, purple and lit warmly.

"So you're back, little brother. What sort of trouble did you get into this time?" called a voice from the next room, punctuated by the sharp ring of a hammer striking metal over an anvil. Those dark eyes lit up instantly as if the lids had been closed, blue flame licking hungrily at nothing.

"Guess." was the only word muttered angrily, the voice menacing with a hollow echo and growl.

"I see. You escaped, I hope?" responded the more elven voice.

"Yes, I'm here, aren't I?" the blue-eyed man snarled shortly.

"True, I don't believe the mages would have let you pass, had you been in thrall still." the smithy chuckled, a relaxed tone obvious in his voice.

"No, I don't think they would have." was the annoyed drawl returned, another strike of the hammer drowning out his words.

"What have you come for, then?"

"Sanctuary. I am no more a warrior, I am disgusted with myself. I have no job, I cannot train warriors like our two younger. There are no positions in Ebonhold for me to teach, despite my prowess in the ways of the blood arts...Even though Lord Thorval wishes to retire, and admits I was one of his best students, he refuses to give me leave to take his position!" the death knight yelled, standing furiously as he threw an unfinished broadsword into the forge.

"I was intending for you to take that blade, you know, when I was finished with it." drawled the older brother, wiping his hands with a dirty towel as he entered the room, a long brow raised curiously at his younger sibling. The knight grumbled, shaking a metal gauntlet off his right hand, baring it of the leather glove, and plunging his hand into the flames to grasp the heated, unbound hilt. Pulling it out, one could see the shimmering heat wave bouncing off the orange colored blade.

"Here, finish it." taunted the red haired male, raising a brow just as curiously at his elder.

"You know, Fedani, you may be a death knight, but you aren't invincible anymore now that you've left his side." the strawberry blond-haired elf scolded, shielding his hand in an enchanted mitt, taking the sword from the now blistered and boiling hand of his younger brother.

"It's fine." Fedani murmured as a small purple worm slithered from his metal bracer, sliding onto the damaged skin slickly. It let out a small squeal as it began to suck and clean the damaged skin, healing it quickly.

"Bloodworms. I always keep some with me - they like to feed off the corpses I create for them...But they heal me, rather than harm me, when they feed off of me." Fedani narrated as the burnt flesh dissappeared into the slowly swelling invertibrate.

"Morbid, but whatever works for you, little brother." the elder sighed, setting the blade on an anvil nearby.

"It's the only thing that works, Valaden. I'm in the plane of undeath, now. This, this disgusting blood treaty with these... Things, is the only way I can live. They sustain me, and in return I must sustain _them_." Fedani growled darkly, sneering as he reached with his other hand to grasp the squealing worm tightly, gripping it so tight it burst into a shower of bloody bits. A new one crawled from the bloodied wrist's bracer, licking up the remains with indifference of the fact it had belonged to kin.

"And I can never be rid of them. They live in me, you know..." he whispered faintly, watching as one worked it's way out from under his skin. With the once blistered hand that was now pale with death and healed, he fingered the two worms with almost adoration. Valaden knew this to be false - it was not anything close to such a warm feeling his brother harbored - it was more tame hatred than adoration.

"Perhaps it is for the best, then. I didn't think I'd lose my brother to the plague and the Lich King. I'd rather not lose him again. It's been quiet since he was killed, though. Everyone has gone off to hunt down Deathwing and his minions, the Nazjatar, too. Why aren't you utilizing this opportunity to redeem yourself that way?" Valaden suggested, striking the broadsword deftly.

"Because I do not desire to do so that way. I wish to make myself known uniquely, not amongst the names and lists of all those other petty adventurers who band together in raids to accomplish feats that are better to be completed single-handedly." Fedani spat, closing his blue eyes in a grimace.

"Then how do you plan to go about getting yourself known? Northrend has been quiet since Arthas' fall, as I said. Malygos has been terminated, Halion defeated, Sartharion purged, and the halls of Ulduar plundered...Nothing is left to be discovered in this desolate rock. Adventurers continue to come here, yes, but only to gain experience against the sturdier monsters and beasts of this place. Dalaran has been all but abandoned from traffic, pardoning the normal denizens and the occasional traveler once in a blue moon." Valaden snarled, striking angrily at the blade that was cooling now. He shoved the pale yellow blade back into the flames of the forge, eyes narrowed against the glare.

"Needless to say, since then, my business has been terrible. I make a few shipments to Warsong hold, the Argent Tournament, and local housings. My fare has been poor. I have been forced to sell my wares for half the price I would have back when Dalaran was the world hub. Now the Horde has retreated to Orgrimmar to uphold their new Warchief, the Alliance to Stormwind to aid their returned King! Ours is in disgrace, dead and rotting in the Magister's terrace, or off in some astral plane being feasted on by greedy demons." the smith growled, ripping the heated blade out once more to pound it flatter and into a better shape.

"Then come with me. We would make a good team, a Fury warrior and a Blood Death Knight. We'd be unstoppable. All we'd need is someone to heal you - I'm fine. My worms could do you some good, but they can't heal all wounds." Fedani grumbled, clasping his now gauntlet covered hand on his brother's shoulder, the worms had vanished at some point.

"And where would we go, Fedani? I already explained Northrend's wasteland attributes, Azeroth is Deathwing's current playground, and Outlands are under the control of the Sha'tar, wiped of the petty influence of the deceased Betrayer..." Valaden murmured spitefully, sighing and wiping his brow as he held the broadsword against the anvil.

"There is a quest I have been offered, brother. It is too much for one." Fedani suggested quietly, those blue eyes shimmering, no irises or pupils to be seen. Valaden eyed him warily.

"Those eyes of yours are disturbing, brother..." the smith snorted, shoving the blade to his brother. The titanium blade shimmered with magic, the blade eloquent but effecient.

"I'll fix the hilt on the journey, where do we hail?" Valaden asked, wiping his hands on his dirty leather smock.

"West, to the Sea. There, miles off the coast lies the island beheld by the Scarlet Onslaught. Rumors have spoken of a new leader, titled the Scarlet Retributionist residing there now. Odd thing is, I've heard he's very young, and from the Eastern Kingdoms. From the Scarlet...Monastery. Isn't that odd, Valaden?" Fedani chuckled, hefting the sword and lifting his own to compare, a slight insane titter to his voice.

"How did you know I was coming, Val? And how did you know what my broadsword looked like?" Fedani mumbled suspiciously, holding the two nearly identical blades up with ease despite the fact they were both meant to be held by two hands.

"I just did. And fine, I'll go with you. But, we have to find someone to mind us before we go. I'm not going without a priest or something." the warrior scoffed, rolling a shoulder casually, ignoring the hurt signals his brother was sending his way.

"Fine, we'll find one before we leave, but answer my question. How did you know I was coming? I came straight from the Ebon Hold, I made no stops. Scourgebeak flew strong and true above the clouds, we were not seen." Fedani accused darkly.

"You were seen leaving Ebon Hold, and knowing I am your only family past the forests of song, I knew you'd come here. Amal'thazad sent me word through a mage, that's all. He warned me you had left the Hold, and were traveling this way. I prepared, and decided to give you a gift, as well. As to how I knew your blade - I am a blacksmith. I never forget a weapon. Anyways, you may bind your hearth here, return to Ebon hold to forge your runes, then return while I find us a healer of some sort. Clear?" Valaden ordered, standing a good half foot over his already tall brother, easily being 6'9. Fedani glared at his elder, brandishing both blades in an offensive pose.

"You listen to me, little brother. You want me to help you? Then suck up that pride of yours and do what I say. I'm the leader in this." Valaden growled, standing strong and unintimidated. Fedani gave a grunt, and sheathed his blade behind his back, slinging the other behind it, creating an 'x' over his back with the two broadswords.

"Fine. I'll be back, here." The death knight grumbled grudgingly, holding out a small round stone with a equally small green symbol on it.

"Be back tomorrow morning, spend the night in the Hold. Ask Thorval his advice, Alistra and Amal'thazad, too." Valaden commented boredly, untying the strings from around his waist and slipping the smock over his head. He hung it on a peg, shedding himself of the sweat-stained white shirt next, revealing a glistening torso with several scars.

"Will do, brother mine. Where do you intend to find our healer?" Fedani asked curiously, beginning the spell that would open a portal to the Ebon Hold - a spell only Death Knights were taught. The darkened portal held together by a skeletal herald opened, the skeleton's head laughing silently down at the knight.

"The bath house." Valaden grinned, watching his brother step through the portal, and watching it shut suddenly after the last part of him passed through. Valaden fingered the small white stone for a moment, then tucked it onto a shelf in the forgeroom. That small stone was bound to Fedani's current one, when Fedani would use his stone, he'd be returned to the general location of the smaller one with a green flash.

"The communal bath house, Fedani." Valaden chuckled lightly, stretching.

"Welcome back, Master smith! It be good to see ye! Ye've not been here in nay a month! We'd begun ta think ye'd left our specialized and, humble services..." chattered a short Gilnaen girl with dark brown hair, and lovely blue eyes, a wide smirk on her face.

"Ah, Mora, I apologize. I've not really had much time to come relax, but I find myself in a time of high stress. My little brother Fedani has rejoined my side this evening, you know. I'm trying to find us a healer to join us on a quest while he is off runeforging his new blade. A bit more muscle wouldn't hurt to have on our side, either. Have any happened by recently, Mora?" Fedani responded to her idly. He'd lived in Dalaran for many years, and thus had a close friendship with the younger gal.

"Well, in fact, I've both! Both of them be lasses, though. I dunnae if they'd like ye, being the lass-killer ye be, and Blood elf ta boot. They be some of them Dra-nei, you see. They dun like yer kind all that much, if ye rememba." Mora replied a bit solemnly.

"That's fine - They're aware that this is a communal bath, correct? My appearance wouldn't be... Startling, being male?" Valaden smirked

"Naw, they know. Go on in, lad. But be careful, I fear fer ye. One be a warrior, same type as ye. The other is ' healer ye be wantin'. A restoration Shaman, I believe. Good luck convincin' em, lad." Mora tittered warmly, flipping a page in the log book before her, taking a black quill and writing his arrival in it shortly, and dismissively. Valaden merely nodded, bowed, and turned to the steaming entrance that was defended by only a curtain of beaded strings. Turning to the right, he entered the men's changing section and lockers. He'd come in a casual set of light leather and cloth underarmor. He quickly shed them into a basket-locker he had been assigned years ago when he'd first entered his membership with the Magic and Fae communal bath house. After he slid the basket back into its slot, a shimmer of purple appeared around the locker's opening, protecting it magically. Valaden gave a small grin, flipping the blond hair on his head over his shoulders, and grabbing a crisp and clean white towel which he then keenly wrapped around his waist.

Pale, glowing blue eyes closed with a pleased sigh as darker blue skin sank into milky white and steaming waters. A tail flicked here and there, the two Draenei women sharing the large, decorated and natural appearing spring with several other groups of people. There was a pair of female gnomes, a group of four male horde (A troll, a tauren, an orc and a goblin), a lone male human-form worgen who was all too contently gazing at the females lounging about, and then a trio of female blood elves. Each group chit-chatted mindlessly and quietly, the pleasantness and warmth of the natural but magically enhanced springs causing each group to forget their normally hostile natures towards each other. At that moment the human-worgen made a bold move and waded over to the trio of blood elf women, a confident but smooth grin barely showing on his lips.

"Ugh, how can he cavort with such disgusting animals? They aren't even fit to be called people." Sarulen scoffed quietly to her warrior-sister, watching with muted disgust and awe as the worgen coyly wrapped an arm around one elf girl, then another, and the last one he found on his lap as the trio began to tease and flirt with him.

"Foul mongrels. Arcane-freaks, horde, and whores to suit. How fitting. Seems our worgen friend is into the exotic curses, too." Lamusana commented, just loud enough for the elven females and the male to hear. The two draenei glared openly at the four sloven characters before haughtily turning away, their towels wrapped securely around their breasts and shielding them conservitively from view.

"Now my dears, that is no way to treat another sensible being, especially in a sanctuary such as this. And I don't think I have to mention, I'd assume you already know, but that 'sloven' worgen over there? He is Joell, the co-owner and brother to our lovely hostess, Mora. Do try not to upset him." spoke a sultry voice, causing Lamusana's gaze to shoot up to meet the glowing green eyes of a blood elf _male_.

"Ah, great, another loaf-headed arcane junkie, and a male at that?" Lamusana growled lowly.

"Now, now...I thought your kind was all about forgiveness and redemption? I've committed no crimes, in fact, I recognize that blade you left with Mora. I crafted that, you know. Shipped it in secret to...oh who was it now, I believe his name was darnassian, and began with an 'I'!" the blood elf chuckled darkly, though his face was straight, with a crooked smirk and his eyes full of amusement.

"How do you know of him!" Lamusana snarled, suddenly all too aware of the rest of the spring's attendants watching their interaction.

"Because I used to forge for him in secret, that's how. Do I do such a thing any more for his left over army? No. But that blade is well over three decades old. Some of the best magic and enchantments I ever installed in a blade. Gorgeous silver ore your master gave me - At the time I didn't know he'd smuggled me Titanium from Northrend. I was still in Silvermoon at that point." he chatted casually, reaching an arm around the warrior as if she were an old friend.

"We wouldn't want to make a scene, now, would we, ladies? Let's just get back into the water. No fuss is needed, I just want to talk."

"So, all we have to do is help you kill this retributionist, and you'll aid us in returning home?" Lamusana asked bluntly, but proffessionally. This was too good to be true.

"Well, yes. My brother seeks fame and honor, I seek to relieve my boredom and perhaps a few fights along the way. You both seek blood, and a way home. I know a few mages that would send you to the base of the dark portal, given we get them a few reagents. Said reagents are a little tricky - Don't ask, I've had to fetch them before to get to Outlands is all - and I know about half are along the way to the Onslaught." Valaden replied, relaxing completely and leaning against the wall of the spring, sitting on the underwater ledge a foot or so under the surface. Lamusana, completely opposite, was upright and rigid, a scowl of disbelief set on her brows. Sarulen was a little more relaxed, though she still sat upright, she let herself look around and smile at the scenery.

"What are the reagents?" the female warrior asked warily.

"Mostly herbs, but a few ores, too. The key reagent is found at the Argent Tournament grounds, from a vendor. Some sort of powder with magical properties similar to a hearth stone. I don't ever use it in my blades, I haven't had someone with the request to create a blade that will bring them to their hearth, yet." Valaden replied honestly, giving a shrug.

"Which? Sarulen is an herbalist...She would be able to find them, given she knows what they are." Lamusana asked for her sister, who was watching the gnome females with curiosity.

"We'll need around 15 Icethorn, five of those red plants... I think they're named Talandra's Roses, and a Frozen Lotus. Do you happen to know of the ores? I am wise in them, but an extra eye is always a help." Val began, raising an eyebrow in query.

"As it so happens, I'm not. I'm just a warrior, like you. Once I dabbled in First Aid, but the bandages I made were... rather terrible, so I dropped my classes." Lamusana dismissed, glancing over at the worgen and blood elf group. The Worgen - Joell - had left them, scorned as they laughed at him, and he was now talking to the gnomes passively and seemingly they enjoyed his company.

"I see, well, I guess the gathering of the ores is up to me. We'll end up needing three small clumps of Titanium, pure and from the earth, and then one of Saronite." Valaden finished, sighing.

"Alright. You have our aid, so long as you agree to a blood-bond to assure your side of the bargain." the draenei warrior glared, knowing that the blood-bond, though a definite pact, was broken on her before. She shuddered slightly and suppressed the memories of torture at her own race's leader.

"Agreed, we can create the pact back at my smithy, tomorrow morn, when my brother has returned. To make the pact stronger, all of us will cross the pact with the opposite class. Your sister will pact with me, and you with my brother. That way, the two of us stronger willed will be dominant over the.. weaker, per say." Valaden chuckled sheepishly, a small grin creasing his cheeks. Lamusana rolled her eyes, sighing.

"Fine. The name of the smithy?" she demanded bluntly. Valaden laughed mirthfully, smiling for a moment.

"My smithy is named the Arsenal Absolute."


	4. Of Worgen and Women

"'Children...Forever mind those around you. Protect those who are innocent, and destroy those who deserve it. Mind the powers that have wrested you into being, into the deadly weapons you are now. Sheathe your claws in the midst of those weaker, and show no mercy in the eyes of the unjust. You are a beast, you are a druid, and forever are you a child of elune, thus, a defender of the balance.'" began a loud and firm voice, "These words my dear students, were spoken once in secret to Malfurion Stormrage, from the great Cenarius himself. This was then passed to one of his greatest pupils, Rahnah Azshel of the Moon. She passed this saying to Celestine of the Harvest, my teacher, which then I committed to memory and heart. Young druids, all of you have chosen this sect of learning for various reasons and all of you desire to choose different learning paths - Restoration, Balance, or Feral Combat. However, we are all the Moon Goddess' children, and we are all a part of keeping the balance. Now, go, class is dismissed. Ana zin falah, Glory for the Balance." dismissed the elder, bowing low in the fashion of the elves rather than his own. The older human was grizzly looking, bulky with muscle but his hair was faded brown-white with gray hairs mixed in with the others. A wide triple-scar ran from his left ear down to a massive patch of angry red on his neck, though it was still a scar. He wore aged but enchanted leather over his body, a wide cloak circling his back and just in front of his shoulders. Massive feathered spaulders adorned his shoulders, and an elegant staff rested in one beefy hand held proudly around the soft leather grip, marks of where his fingers have grasped worn from the years. Overall, the tall human, older but strong, was an impressive figure. Standing and teaching among the fair skinned and long-eared nocturnal elves, the human was a crow among doves. An elegant voice hummed quietly in the background of the classroom, and a lovely naga sat on a smooth stone with water spilling slowly around her, delicately rubbing a soft oiled cloth over her golden scales. The students of varied races milled out slowly, a few sparing the priestess serpent an adoring or affectionate glance. Few horde races were in this class, but the teacher could still see a grown troll male huddled between one female tauren, and a burly young bull tauren. The silvery eyes of the serpentine priestess blinked slowly, turning a loving gaze over to the grizzly human.

"Ana zin falah, ana zin azsh...Andu falah-dor ana falore kal'azsh..." the naga began to sing, once the last student was out the sound-muffling doors, rubbing the embercloth over one of her beautifully iridescent purple frills, near where an ear on a normal humanoid should be. "Falah ana sin, Kal falah ana, Falah ana Elune..." she ended, adding a beautiful trill at the end, her frills shimmering in the light, now. She was bedecked in shells, pearls and soft cloths. Silky, nearly transparent cloth framed her torso and trailed over her hips, held up by shells of white. Sharpened claws made of pyrite metal shimmered the colors of the rainbow, attached over her natural ones. Dark golden lips opened and closed as she had finished.

"Falah ana Elune, indeed my love. Did you spot any keepers? I believe a few of them are promising. That troll has not been here before, but he knows the ways, I can sense it..." the elder human chuckled, placing his staff securely on his back, and walking to her, running a hand over the top of the water in which the naga's stone sat. A scaled and shining tail slipped around his wrist, and two of her four hands were placed on his cheeks respectively. He smiled genuinely, and leaned forward to kiss her chastely.

"That troll will not be back, dearessst..." she hissed quietly, her voice a timid whisper. She feared to speak or sing among others, it was only her devotion and love of the druid before her that made her speak. Her voice did odd things to men, her being a siren species and all.

"I know. He was testing my waters, seeing if I truly hold up to my name, Gresham of the Hunt, the fabled druid pupil of Celestine of the Harvest, who was the sole pupil to Rahnah Azshel...By the looks, I passed." Gresham chuckled, caressing her cheek with one hand. Her silver eyes gave a smile as her cheeks stretched into a youthful smirk.

"You did. As for those who _will_ return, I believe all of the night elvesss, pardoning that ssskinny reed of a boy, will return. The tauren female will return, I sssaw thisss in her, but sshe does not possessss the druid ways. Her bull will not return. And, of courssse...Your Mora will alwaysss return, even once sshe has passssed your teachingsss..." the naga responded lightly, pulling back from the grizzled veteran only to slip out of the water, her scales drying instantly as she murmured a spell to herself.

"True, but she is my daughter, now. She and Joell will forever be my children...in the stead of the ones I cannot have." Gresham sighed, but forcing a smile onto his face as he swept the female into his arms romantically, twirling them both.

"That isss not my fault, you know." she giggled, her voice rising beautifully, and enchantingly.

"I know, it is only my own. Pledging my line to Elune had some... side effects. At least you can't get pregnant, and produce little naga-worgen halflings, right, Kal'azsh?" Gresham laughed, nuzzling her affectionately. She laughed with him, frills wiggling with delight.

"Yesss, and good that no worgen pupsss will be ssspawned from you, from any of the harlotsss you may or may not be enjoying when I am ssshedding." she teased, winking at him knowingly. A dark blush went across his tanned skin, and his purple eyes darted to the side in embarassment.

"I...don't know what you're talking about, dearest." he chuckled sheepishly.

"I don't mind, my love. I know you think of me, and me only, but men have needss..." she cooed, stroking his neck scar lovingly. He gave a short and muffled growl, a shudder coursing through his spine. The moment was spoiled, and Gresham's spine grew rigid with a palpable aura of..._wrong_.

"...Tame, my student. Now is not the time. Darkness looms shortly, Elune has forseen it and I am her messenger." an abrubt, startling voice beckoned, and in the main doorway stood a pair of female night elves, one with normal silver eyes and the other with golden eyes that outshone Kal'azsh's scales. Gresham broke his embrace with the serpent-woman and was on one knee in an instant. Kal'azsh was similarly swift, bowed deep, arms held in front and behind her back respectively. The shorter of the two wore a deep orange cloak that covered her neck and shoulders, sweeping elegantly down to her ankles. Her body was covered conservitivly with warm-hued leathers padded for riding and combat. A staff was rested in one hand, the wooden face gnarled into a beast's snarl, paw prints stamped into wax circles on the sides of the beast's neck. Pouches lined her hips, supplies or items of various natures resting neatly in each one. High-cuff leather boots with titanium toes reached the underside of her kneecap with a rich brown color. No spaulders of any kind were over her shoulders. Overall the scheme was practical, but complimentary to her own beauty, and Gresham knew that all the material was made of rare core-hound hide. She was another druid, and she reacted to hearing sound with twitches of her long elven ears, flexing her fingers nervously like a feline in a pounce.

The taller, stronger of the two was blatantly a hunter, a finely crafted quiver to each thigh, black-fletched arrows nestled securely inside of them. A longbow with black laquer was strapped to her back over a red cloak, and a single leather shoulderguard with blackened feathers jutting out of the bottom rested over her left shoulder. Her protective leathers were an intricate maze of stitchwork and brown-hues mixed with reds, while two menacing swords with skulls etched into the hilts rest on her hips, safely sheathed. A belt with leather flaps over her groin met at one longer rectangle, a skull of some long-horned animal drawn into the material. Over her right shoulder lay an exellently woven brain of deep blue hair that reached her stomach, even thrown over as it was. Her eyes were fierce and unkind, she was a hardened veteran despite her youthful looks. The fair-haired she-elf had thoughtful, warm eyes, though they currently looked sad and in the throes of pain.

"Rise, Hunt. We have a problem brewing. The plan has yet to be enacted, but the balance is threatened. Star, love, light, and blood are meant to be in perfect harmony, balanced. Blood is being tipped in favor of itself, and Light is being smothered. Star has ever been untouchable by mortals except for us who worship her, and love is as ever in flux." the golden-eyed druid announced while Gresham stood, his face grim and serious. Kal'azsh slowly retreated back to her pond, these matters were not for her, and she knew it.

"What is it you wish of me, Moon?" Gresham asked darkly, eyes narrowing as he seamlessly became the furred worgen that bore the triple-scar along the left side of his massive neck. No pain was visible on his features, but all of the females in the room knew he was in severe pain. Transformations for worgen were terribly painful, but Gresham was so used to being connected to his feral side, that he showed no sign of the burden.

"We must save the Light of the balance. Your own blood threatens to destroy it. Joell.,," 'Moon' replied, eyes glaring slightly. Her ashen white hair fell down in long tresses, clear to the small of her back. Her skin was fair, even for the elves, being a soft lavender. Dark purple and brutal claw tattoos that Gresham knew were actually carved into her skin, ran from halfway through her forehead then down to the middle of her cheeks. 'Moon' had never told him how she came across these special markings, most were not carved, only inked. Hers were carved and colored magically, and had been done most likely with a massive amount of pain.

"What has my son got to do with this motion that threatens to tip the scales?" Gresham asked quietly, gruffly.

"He aids in the plan, albeit unwittingly. We cannot act... not yet. Things may yet turn themselves back in order, but this may not be so, and we must be prepared to fight for our world. Your son will aid in the hunt and capture of a recently discovered member of the Scarlet Onslaught, a young high elf who knows nothing except his zealotry, and chastity. He is young, younger than he ought to be for owning such a high ranking and unique title such as the Retributionist. He is the new symbol of hope for the Crusade and Onslaught alike, if he is killed, northrend will be doomed. However, if he is influenced in the favor of the Balance..." the fair druidess narrated, holding a hand out delicately as a small swirl of green magic formed the shape of a male blood elf, only a mere 17 years of age, obvious by the baby fat still held in his facial features and the kind eyes he held.

"He is so young, Moon...How am I to protect him, to bid him in our favor?" Gresham asked, clueless as he gestured to the small figure with promptly walked in what was supposedly the elf's actual gait, over to his furry palm. He examined the features of the young elf, obviously a paladin by his armor and weaponry.

"Curious, Moon. He is different - why is he the change in the tide, amidst this cataclysm of fire?" the worgen continued, clenching his hand around the sparking green energy, dismissing it.

"Elune did not bid me know. Perhaps he will grow to end Deathwing's fury, or he will be part of something smaller, we won't know until he grows, and if he survives. Your duty will be this, go to him and protect him. You will do this silently, without him knowing. Stealth will be what you need, and when he is attacked...You must overcome what fights him, and turn his heart towards us with this act." 'Moon' sighed quietly.

"What say you, Reaver?" Gresham asked boldly, addressing the second elf woman, who stood slightly behind 'Moon' with an air of confidence. She looked at him with glistening silver orbs that rivaled Kal'azsh's own beautiful orbs.

"Difficult, Hunt. This is no simple test, this child holds within him a seed of the Light herself...Much like Moon does of Elune. If humans, elves, or any other else doubted the Light's entity, this is their downfall. Elune has always been bold...Putting her essence inside of our Matron was even bolder, but she has not rued her decision yet. The Light must know what she is doing, as well, or is jealous of our goddess." 'Reaver' replied stoicly, closing her eyes for a moment in thought.

"The Light herself? Interesting...I have no connection with her, I have ever been a child of Elune...How can I win over the diety that I have never followed?" the worgen asked, his voice low and he fingered his staff nervously.

"We can't know for sure, Hunt...You must go tomorrow morn, your duty begins on tomorrow's eve, fly swift and true to his location...Falah ana Elune. Dismissed..." called 'Moon', turning sharply, remorse and guilt written over her soft face. Her orange cloak swept through the doorway, and she was gone in a swirl of mystery. 'Reaver' remained for a moment, glancing at Kal'azsh with what appeared to be scrutiny.

"Take care, Hunt. Moon is in dire pain, her heart is torn from ths discovery...She spends her days writhing on a pallet with a rag over her eyes...Her nights are filled with torment wrought from the Emerald Dream. If Light dies... So will she, Elune has made sure of that." 'Reaver' growled, eyes narrow as she eyed the both of them. Gresham's face fell, and a small whine left his canine lips.

"I understand, Reaver..." he mumbled quietly, bowing low to the night elf.

"Falah ana sin, brother..." the she-elf sighed, bowing in return. As she left, the worgen turned sullenly to his lover, grief embedded into his amethyst eyes. He looked at her mournfully, taking two of her hands in his. She touched his furry cheek gingerly, grief in her eyes as well.

"Cancel the rest of the classes this week, dearest... and don't schedule any till I send word. I shall leave with the moon, tonight...But for now, let us enjoy our company..."


	5. New Crusade

Blue eyes were shrouded in worry, and the red-headed elf child shook on his knees, his sensitive ears picking up the gentle clanging of his chain mail against white painted plate. He had a very good reason to be shaking in his boots right about now! A massive red-laquered ship with unfurled white sails bobbed slightly on the water in front of him, easily over 20 lengths of a man standing. He wasn't really sure why their mode of travel had to be so obvious, and just for him. He was being sent to Northrend to overtake the currently empty position that the fabled High General Abbendis's daughter had ran up until her gruesome slaughter by a troop of adventurers. Did he have a choice in this matter? No, not really. Grand Champion Herod had earlier this morning clapped him on his unarmored shoulder, grinned underneath his bloody colored helm, and told him he'd graduated and that he'd be given a high-standing position immediately. Little did Amorieln know when he heard this 'joyous' news that he would be shipped off the same afternoon with naught but his armor, weapons, mount, and a small trunk of personal items he'd gathered last minute. They'd spent one half of an hour gathering his things - several members of the Crusade had opted to help, including the majority of his able family - and then rode hard and fast to reach the boat on the northern coast of Lordaeron's ruins. It was now past midday, but not late enough to call it evening. The slight chill on the air made him thankful for the leathers and furs under his plate. He was overly warm in these, but he had already been warned he'd be thanking the smithies and clothiers later for the last minute additions once he reached the icy north. He took their word for it. Not very many of the Monastery were there to see him off - his wonderful family were there, and he was ever in debt for that heartfelt blessing. Ryan stood next to him, his elder brother, for he would be joining him on this journey - he'd been scheduled to leave for Northrend next month anyways. Amorieln's older brother had earned his keep several times over at the monastery, and now was to earn his reputation as a Darkcaster, teaching those on Onslaught Isles' caves. As his brother stood next to him, a wide grin was ever plastered onto his face.

"What are you so happy about, big brother?" Amorieln asked quietly, gazing up at the intimidating ship.

"What isn't there to be happy about, little brother? I've been declared the strongest caster of the time at the Monastery aside from Whitemane or Doan, and have been requested to teach the Darkcasters of the Onslaught Isles because of my abilities, that is more than enough to be excited about! Now tell me, Amo, why do you carry such a long expression in the face of such a joyous occurrance?" Ryan replied, excitement obvious in his poise and voice. Amorieln glanced over at the black-haired and somewhat tanned human beside him.

"We probably won't see ma and pa for years, once we go...We won't see baby Belle grow up, and Marcus will be gone into school and graduated before we return. I think that's more than enough reason to be miserable." Amorieln whispered softly, sighing afterwards.

"Cheer up, brother. We will still see them, just not as often. Letters, mirrors, and heart-whispers are more than enough communication. I'm glad to get out of their hair, the house has been ever full since Liam was ditched by that monk girl that Mograine took a fancy to. Sulking and lying around with no motivation because he was beaten by a paladin - he's more a hassle than you or I ever were, even as babes. And trust me, you were a pain to handle, brother mine. I used to help ma hold and keep you entertained, you were a finicky little brat who whined during baths because we had to remove that precious ring of yours" Ryan chuckled, turning and clapping an arm on Amorieln's shoulder, just next to the massive white and red metal spaulder. Amorieln gave a short laugh, nodding while he fingered the sun-engraved plain golden ring on a silver chain 'round his neck.

"I'll still miss them." he mumbled shortly with a longing glance behind him where the rest of his surrogate family stood, with grim smiles on their faces as they waited to watch their boys board. Their ma had lines down her cheeks while Annabelle held onto a lock of hair in the pleasant grip of sleep, ignorant to the sorrow their mother was experiencing. Their pa stood strong, but Amorieln could see in his face he didn't want to see either of them go. Little Marcus, currently 14, was pouting sadly with his lower lip out. This caused Amorieln to smile a little, and wave to the younger one. Marcus perked up a little, returning the wave and smile both.

"I will too, Amo. We both will, and they will miss us. But we are needed on the Isles, for a greater purpose..." Ryan claimed boldly. "Or does your heart not pull you there?" Ryan asked, his voice near silent, eyes wide as he sought an answer from his elfin brother. Amorieln grimaced, shaking his head.

"My heart does not speak to me - the Light has been quiet, and I am afraid she does not want me there in that place. But whom will belive me pardoning our family? I am Herod's prodigy, Mograine's too or so they claim...You're right, we are needed. But how much we are needed in the end, and by what, the Light denies me this information, and for that I am wary." the high elf explained solemnly. Ryan nodded, removing his hand grimly.

"Then we tread lightly, brother mine. 'Make no trail, leave no scent, mark nothing except our success.'" Ryan quoted their beloved father, smiling genuinely. The young elfin paladin smiled in return.

"'Mark everything but your failures, leave everything but your devotion, and make nothing but your prayers to the Light.'" the elf replied, finishing the line.

"And to the light we shall pray!" Ryan shouted boldly, raising the hand that had rested on his younger sibling's shoulder, high into the air in the shape of a fist. A roar echoed the warlock's cry, and unable to handle the sight of his parents repeating the motion for fear he'd burst into tears, Amorieln turned and stepped onto the red laquered deck of the mighty ship that would bear them to Northrend. Northrend, the land of scourge, death, demons and all things tainted or unholy. Sucking in a gulp of air, the paladin stood tall and continued walking, watching the water that greeted his vision, just beyond the other railing. It was amazing just how vast the world seemed, if one just looked farther than their home. He shivered for a moment, and reluctantly turned to a deckhand who bore a tabard, just like he did.

"Your quarters, paladin, are this way." the dekhand murmured in a slightly reverent tone, which earned him a slight nod in reply and the clunking plate steps of a heavily armored crusader. Following quickly, Amorieln was taken to a modest hallway just past the galley that was currently occupied by a few serving maids wiping down tables. Just inside the hallway were five rooms, two per side and one at the end, with lavishly enameled and decorated doors.

"You have your choice, although I would avoid this first one on the left, Fairbanks is usually privy to it." the deckhand chuckled, offering Amorieln a steady hand and a grin. Amorieln nodded, returning a polite smile and grasping the offered hand tightly for a moment before sliding towards the second door on the right. He opened the creaky door and slipped inside, sighing as the door clicked shut and the finely made lock snapped into place when he touched it.

"Privacy, for the first time since I was born, besides the outhouses and bathing rooms. Finally!" Amorieln grinned, shedding himself of his bulky armor in record time, and promptly flopping onto the moderately comfortable bed.

"It's about time, Light, I praise thee, thank you..." he mumbled wearily, burying his face into a plain white linen pillow. His peace was shattered with a knock on his door.

"Hey, Amo! Open up!" came Ryan's chuckling voice.

"No, go away, Ryan! I want to sleep! Light knows, I haven't for the past thirty or more hours!" Amorieln groaned back, voice muffled by the pillow being clutched ever tighter around his head and ears.

"Amo, come on baby brother, I need to talk with you!" his brother insisted, and Amorieln could've sworn he heard the sound of a lock being picked, or something like it.

"No, Ryan, I'm tired, and we'll be on this blasted boat for over a week, can't it wait?" the high elf whined, his young age truly showing now.

"Fine, you little wretch of an elf. I'll talk to you at supper, it's at eight." Ryan called, defeat obvious in his tone. Amorieln couldn't help but turn over and chuckle triumphantly to himself. He gave a sigh of bliss and melted into the blood-red covers, already wishing he were home again.

"This is going to be a long week...Light help me." he grumbled.


End file.
